Cutter and Skank
by Doctor-Honesty
Summary: a PWP between two war boy OC's


Skank noticed the war boy who had walked in on him with a client scoping him out. He was curious, but only mildly, and a little amused. Every once in a while the micro hairs on the back of his neck would stand on end and sure enough, after glancing around, he would catch a quick look of that particular bald head leaving his view. It wasnt unheard of for this mild stalking to happen- usually when he told Boys his price he could expect one of three reactions: rejection, acceptance, or shyness. Shyness and rejection sometimes ended in this odd do I dont I dance that could last weeks. Also, ironically, most of those still ended up with him getting beaten up at least a fair bit. He snorted to himself and looked back down at his work. /warboys/.

His gaslamp had been burning down faster than usual and he couldnt figure out why it seemed to be needing guzzoline top ups so much more regularly. The boy underneath him shuddered as the scarification artist dug his blade into his shoulder, just about to start a rather uninspired piece that was sure to be well made and scar thickly- but looked no different from the basic forms and structure most boys carved into themselves. After all, it had been a fairly shitty blowjob, and the Boy had still punched him in the face. He could feel the swell of his left eye socket. Not enough to blur his vision, but enough to be tender and irritated. As he pressed the cut, the gas lamp went out and the pseudo-room he called his studio and home was plunged into semi darkness. Enough to get around, not enough to cut proper lines.

"The fuck is this about, Skank?" the boy underneath him complained and looked up at him. He frowned. He could have sworn he'd put in at least an inch a few hours ago, and by his estimate that usually should have lasted him the evening.

"I dont know. Maybe the wick...?" but no, when he held it up and shook it, the tiny glass bulb was empty. "Maverick. Do you have any Guzz? otherwise this cut will have to wait until tomorrow when threes light. I don't have any more favors I can call in for extra..." usually he could trade his body for whatever necessities he needed, but with his lamp running dry so often these last two weeks he was getting the feeling the Drivers were losing patience with him.

Maverick scoffed and stood up off of the sheet metal table that was used as Skanks work place. "Fuckin typical," he snorted, shoving the artist to the floor in an easy push. Skank winced at the familiar sensation of his back hitting dirt and sighed, watching idly as the Boy stalked out of his room. Well, he'd already gotten what he wanted, he supposed. Less work for him tonight if he didn't have to spend hours scarring.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Cutter watched Maverick stalk out of Skanks hovel and smirked at the tiny bleeding cut on his shoulder. Hilarious. He looked down at the small flask in his hand and swished the contents around. It hadn't been easy sneaking past Skank, who seemed to have exceptional personal awareness. He'd had to deliberately fuck up several times just to get the artist used to his presence in and around his hide out. Still, it was worth it.

Hidden in shadow against the side of the makeshift studio, Cutter leaned his head against the metal and listened to the sounds within. For a short time, Skank seemed to stay on the ground, silently. He waited until he heard him starting to get up, so he could disguise the sound of his own movements under the sound of Skanks. Easy tactic. Just gotta be patient.

A few swift steps alerted Skank, and the thin man was in the motion of whipping around to see who was there when a looped chain found its way around his wrist and up his arm. Working with the efficiency of a man who knows exactly what he's doing, Cutter brought the longer length of chain across skanks back, tied both arms at the elbow, and worked it up and around his neck in a tied-off slip knot. It left precisely 3 feet of chain free, his arms incapacitated, and any struggling would lead to tightening around his throat. He had estimated a small amount of struggle, but apart from the initial knee jerk reaction that anyone would have to being jumped in the dark, Skank seemed to melt fairly quickly into his arms.

That was irritating. It was hard to one-up all those that had come before him when the list was so long Skanks thigh looked like someone had gone at him with a grater. It was with a practiced ease that the impossibly thin man relaxed his muscles and tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck. Cutter felt him spread his legs subtly as well, and press his hips back slightly against him. Ready, waiting, willing? unsurprised ? he huffed quietly and tighted the lead, causing Skanks breath to wheeze a bit.

"I'm here to earn my scar." He said matter of factly, in the same tone a plumber might use to inform a house wife that he's about to fix her sink. Unable to properly articulate, Skank hissed out some sort of affirmative that was really little more than a grunt and a whine.

There was an additional partition in between the work space and the natural cavern wall, leaving a small area where there was a pile of rags collected and evenly spread out. Cutter ignored the sleeping space and dropped Skank to his knees on the workshop floor.

The gas lamp was on the edge of the work bench and he idly filled it from his flask and lit it with an easy strike of flint on tinder. Skank was looking over his shoulder at him and he was pleased to see the artists brows knit together as he eyed the lamp and the ease with which Cutter handled it. It was a rare old world commodity and very, very few war boys had access to one. Cutter watched as Skanks facial expression went from confused to realization. He made eye contact. Cutter smirked.

Cutter flopped down in front of the kneeling man and placed his legs on either side of him, one hand up on his makeshift chain collar. He inspected him as casually as one inspected a new engine, and after a few seconds grunted quietly to himself and took off the satchel he had had over his shoulder. The leather bag seemed fairly full and held itself up by its own weight.

He pulled out a strip of rag and idly wrapped it around Skanks eyes, tying an easy knot at the back. " Just for this part." he said, as if that was any sort of explanation.

... ... ... ... ... ... ...

He was used to blind folds. Some Boys didn't want him to see what they did to him. He didn't really understand it- certainly getting fucked was more intimate than eye contact? but this felt different. He shivered a little bit at the casual attitude of this war boy before him. The slow sort of patience that warned him that this wasn't a quick, rough fuck in a corner in exchange for some art carved into his flesh. The knot work alone on the chains binding him spoke of planning and practice. This was... new. It wasn't what he was used to. He felt off balance, even as he felt his cock fill with blood in anticipation.

There was a wet sound, slurping almost, and then something moist touched his lips and pressed. Fingers. He instinctively opened his mouth but instead on feeling them enter, they traced the outline of his lips instead. He felt Goosebumps rise on his flesh and suddenly understood this war boys desire for a blindfold. He wanted him off balance. He wanted him to not know what was coming. The fingers left, and a soft breeze blew across the wet expanse of his slack jawed mouth. He was having air blown at him. He shivered. "What...?"

"Shut up."

He closed his mouth. Several moments passed of nothingness and his knees started to ache, pressed into the dirt floor. He flexed his arms against the chains but succeeded only in cutting off his airway even more. A light touch from the war boy across him loosened the tight sensation on his neck and he breathed a little easier. His mind was starting to race. What next?

A tongue licked a slow stripe up the side of his neck and he eagerly tilted his head, exposing more room. His cock twitched and he huffed a small sigh. So little, so slow. When was this Boy going to get to it? teeth nipped at his earlobe and he flinched slightly. Pain didn't bother him, but with the blindfold everything seemed twice as unexpected. He could feel the Boys pant legs against his calves, one warm hand pressed to the small of his back where it held the chain that restricted his movements. He breathed, and his breathing was the only sound in the room.

The hand on his back was gone, and the chains made a soft sound as they settled, dangling in the empty air. Skank heard and smelled flint being struck against something, and burning filled the air. Along with... what was that? suddenly, hot liquid poured down his collarbone and he flinched and cried out. Not a second later the Boys breath was on him again, cooling whatever coated him and lessening the shock. Wax? where the hell had he gotten...

The thought was cut off as a hand pulled the chain, forcing him to lean uncomfortably back and expose his chest, bending at the waist in a manner no one would normally choose to do. The wax dripped onto his nipples and he hissed along with it, head thrown back and cock throbbing. Still, still the Boy hadn't touched it! it dangled heavily between his thighs, twitching and aching now. He wanted to say something, anything, but the chain at his throat restricted him.

Shuffling now. A hand peeled the cooled wax from his chest and he flinched at every gesture, a tongue lathed wetly at the raw, heated flesh left behind. Most Boys were not so creative when it came to payment... his mind was already starting to wander, losing itself to the pleasant bliss he craved from the touch of others. A hand on the back of his head pulled him forward and he felt a kiss on his lips. Unabashedly he moaned and opened his mouth, hips subconsciously thrusting forward into empty space. More. Please more. He was fucked so regularly, but kissed so rarely. Damn. But it was gone as soon as it came, and the wet heat left his lips quivering alone in the void. Just as he was starting to hate the blind fold, it was removed. Skank wasn't sure what he was expecting to see, but the very calm, business-like face of a war boy staring into his eyes with such measured precision was not it. He looked down, but no erection tented the Boys pants. He swallowed tightly. Was this it then? original, but... mediocre...

"My name is Cutter. Ill tell you now, so you can scream it later." Skanks eyes widened at the statement, but Cutter barely even looked at his face. instead he laid himself flat on the ground and made a 'come here' gesture. " My face. Your cock. Your legs are free, come here."

Skank felt his heart rate increase, he shuffled dutifully up the sculpted body of the war boy, careful to no knee him. He hesitated with his thighs on either side of Cutters face - with his arms constricted behind his body, he couldn't lean forward...

But Cutter seemed to know what he was doing. He grabbed Skank around the shoulders and pulled him down roughly. With nothing to brace himself on, Skank Hit the ground painfully, his right cheek scratching dirt and his shoulders throbbing. He felt the chain tighten a bit, enough that he was consciously reminded of each breath. He thought he wouldn't feel as vulnerable without the blindfold, but he was evidently wrong.

"Ahh! oh, ohhhh..." a slick, wet heat covered his cock. Cutter had engulfed as much of him as he could comfortably take in one smooth, slick moment. The sheer eroticism of being held in such a position, ass up, face down, cock nearly hilt deep in a strange mans throat had him throbbing with need. His hips twitched forward nearly involuntarily, burying himself a little deeper in the hot wet throat beneath him. This action lead to a short tug on the chain and he coughed slightly.

There was shuffling, and he heard the leather bag getting rifled through. He thought for a moment maybe Cutter was aiming for lubricant- it would be unnecessary. He always kept himself lubed and prepped, just in case he had the opportunity to get the attention he craved. Instead of feeling moisture at his entrance though, he felt something hard and damp. The room was filled with a strange smell... strong, sharp, odd. He couldn't place it. The object pressed into his opening and the mouth below him sucked hard. He moaned into the dirt floor, drool dribbling out of his mouth.

Whatever it was that was pressing into him, it stung. He'd had all kinds of cock in all kinds of ways, but this was some kind of... chemical? it was easily three inches long and his internal flesh felt oddly warm, a burning sensation unlike any he had felt before. Deft fingers moved the strange, sharp smelling object in and out of his body in time with suction around his cock and he felt himself tumbling towards the end.

Just as his heart began thudding in his ears and his body started to tremble something pinched hard at the base of his cock and all motion ceased. He whined uncontrollably and tasted dirt from the floor on his tongue.

"wh... wh... what?" thhe chain around his throat was making him see stars, and his body trembled. A chuckle reverberated around his cock but the pinching fingers at his base kept him from cumming. With a wet sucking noise the mouth was gone and a calm voice came from beneath him:

"Not yet."

The husky, cock-roughened voice sent a thrill through Skanks body, but he could to nothing except tremble. Restrained as he was, he had no power. His knees throbbed from being pressed into the hard earth beneath him, and when he felt Cutters mouth back on his cock he collapsed completely into the dirt. Unable to contain himself, he thrust into the mouth below him. Every time he pulled back he impaled himself on the strange, hot, stinging object in his ass.

As soon as he was at his wits end again, though, those devilish fingers were back. They stilled his hips with a strength hard enough to bruise and pressed into his base roughly enough to make him flinch.

"Whhhh uhhhhh whyyyyyy..." Skank could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His whole body trembled. Beneath him, beyond his sight, Cutter shuffled out from under him and removed the object, tossing it beside his head. The smell was still sharp. He desperately tried to focus. It looked like... some kind of plant? carved into a phallic shape. Huh... what...?

Before he could finish the thought the room resounded with a loud smack and his ass burned. He yelped, pulling against the chain. A moment later Cutters hand came down again, branding his backside with sharp, efficient motions. Every time Skank leaned away, he leaned into the chain and saw stars. Every time he felt close to cumming from the sensation, an efficient and swift hand would grip him tightly, and all motions would cease.

Tears leaked out of his eyes, smudging the dirt around his face. Wordless noises escaped his mouth against his will with every hit against him. A mouth made painful, wet marks on his sides and hips. Every bite sent his hips thrusting into nothingness.

The last shreds of cognitive thought fled his mind when the hand left him and he felt a tongue pressing into his entrance. What? what even was this? pre cum leaked from the tip of his cock like the drool that poured from his mouth as he felt himself being probed and eaten from behind. Arms still tight behind his back he had no real way of gaining control of his position. Ass to the sky, Skank could do nothing but moan wantonly at the tongue attempting to trace his anatomy from the inside out.

That hand! the second his cock started to throb with orgasm, there it was again, pinching, hurting, stopping him from reaching any sort of end. He felt like he was going made, going insane from this torture. The tongue inside of him began to thrust in and out in a regular rhythm and Skank felt himself gasping along with the motions in some sort of sick display of encouragement,

"huh, huh, huh, huh, uhh, uhh, uhh..."

His sack tightened against his body and a hand swiped itself against his cock, spreading the pre-cum down his length and slicking his shaft. In a moment, all sensations left.

Skank was left panting on the ground, spread open and wanton. It lasted long enough for his heart rate to start to settle, and his mind to start to grasp back at reality. Just as he started to be able to think coherently again, a hard, dull presence pressed into his entrance.

After all that, finally, he was about to get fucked. Something like relief fluttered through him in that moment, and a dull sense of accomplishment as well, that Cutter could actually get aroused, that he wasn't just playing him like Coma played his guitar. He couldnt, wouldnt contain himself at the moan of deep satisfaction he felt at he was filled. He desperately tried to listen, see if he could hear anything from the man above him. A change in breathing, a gasp, a moan... any of the normal signs that he was pleasing the person thrusting into him. He heard nothing aside from calm, even breathing. Fuck.

It affected him. He didnnt know why, and he didnt want it to, but it did. He felt Cutter press in to the hilt, and pause. Hands deftly undid the chains restricting him and he cried out softly as he let his arms fall down to his sides, aching from being pulled back for so long. The foreign sensation of a still cock inside of him thankfully left, and he was bonelessly rolled on to his back. Cutter, he noticed, was still wearing his pants. All of his belts remained tied. The only thing exposed was his hard, heavy cock, free via a small slit in the pants at the crotch.

His own length twitched and drooled clear fluid into his belly button at the sight of the poised man above him. He was so far gone...

Cutter buried himself inside of Skank, pressing forward until there was no further to go, the thin artists legs hoisted over his shoulders and their foreheads pressed together. It was an impossibly close, impossibly intimate position to be in. Skanks lips quivered and Cutter pressed their mouths together as he set a deep, gruelingly slow pace.

He barely pulled back before pressing forward again, creating a motion that felt like impossibly thick fingers massaging Skanks prostate. His breath was cut off by the mouth covering his own, the tongue thrusting languidly down his throat in time with hips that pressed into him simultaneously shallow and deep. How was Cutter so poised? as the war boy pulled away he started up at him incredulously, knowing that he must look like a wreck, eyes swollen, tear streaks on the side of his face, dirt-turned mud smearing his cheeks and his mouth wide open, taking every impossibly deep thrust with a soft, gut wrenched noise that was impossible to suppress.

"Beg me." Cutter said softly, staring down into Skanks eyes in such a way that he felt the world might end all over again right there, right now.

"Wh...?"

"Beg. Me." Skank desperately looked for a sign of weakness. Sweat, trembling, twitching, anything to give away the fact that Cutter was balls deep inside of him, demanding him to beg for it. Seeing nothing toppled him and he threw his head back, arching into the electric shocks of his prostate being hit on every thrust.

"Please, please, please, please, please..." the mantra ran on and on until the word seemed to lose all meaning, and Cutters pace began to pick up. A hand wove its way between them and began to stroke his cock in time, and the 'pleases' disappeared completely into wanton moaning.

"Open your eyes. Look at me." Skank barely even noticed that they were closed. He struggled to open them, mouth dangling open, hips meeting every thrust. The eyes that stared back at him, forehead pressed to forehead, were so dark with lust he felt a shock run through him. He felt Cutters hips start to snap into him and his attention started to glaze over in a haze of pleasure so deep he felt it straight to the core of his being.

Cutters face slipped away from his and his mouth pressed against the artists ear, where he could finally hear it start to hitch and fumble. His fingers dug into the dirt beneath him- even unbound, he felt like he wasn't allowed to reach up and clutch at the man above him. Everything started to tumble out of order.

"Please, do-ont, don't st-stop me, please..." Skank rambled, knowing that is he was denied again he would simply implode, cease to exist. A breathless voice whispered in his ear,

"Say. My. Name." Cutter sounded close. Skanks body trembled and arched, he whimpered, he could barely even remember. What was his name? what was his name? God? Death, perhaps? more tears leaked unstopped from his eyes. He couldn't, he couldn't remember,

Teeth dug into his neck.

"C, Cutter!" He choked out, and the world tumbled away from him. Pleasure ripped through him, so, so fucking thankfully unstopped. His vision lost focus completely. He barely felt the hips slamming into him stutter and lose the perfect poise they'd had all evening.

An unknowable amount of time later Skank opened his eyes, breath heaving in his chest and cum drying slowly against his stomach. Cutter was still inside of him, bent over him, finally un-composed. The War Boy was breathing heavily and staring down at Skank with a gleaming, unfocused look of pleasure on his face.

It was oddly... endearing.

"So. My scars." Cutter huffed, gently putting Skanks legs down from his shoulder.

"Shiny, Cutter. So shiny. So chrome."

"unlike any other you've done?"

"Oh yes." He wasn't sure, in that moment, if he was talking about the scars or not.

(((It was Ginger root, for anyone whose wondering. The sex act is called "figging" go ahead and google it ))


End file.
